


Shall We Begin?

by lollyflop



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-03-13 04:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18933592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollyflop/pseuds/lollyflop
Summary: Daenerys is carried to Volantis where she meets a red priestess who reminds her of her purpose. Following the end of Game of Thrones.





	1. Chapter 1

She pulled a breath that burned through her. It seared her inside, scorching her throat, her lungs, her heart. It filled her chest with a thousand iron blades, her ribcage alight with blinding pain.  
Her limbs flailed as she came up from the depths, surfacing from inky blackness that stretched endlessly, that completely engulfed everything she had been. She reached for solid ground and found fistfuls of salt. Her eyes rolled wildly. Her lips moved to form words but spat only barking coughs of ash. She dragged in more air and waited for the unbearable sting to subside.  
A warm hand pressed to her shoulder and she clasped it with her clammy palms, snapping her head toward the veil of red above her. She desperately willed her eyes to focus. She knew something was wrong, but anything–mere existence–was a welcome respite from the dark.  
A voice came, ringing like a bell through her consciousness. “My Queen.”  
She blinked as the woman before her began to take shape. A memory surfaced, buoyed by a glittering red jewel. “Y-you’re a…”  
“I am Kinvara, High Priestess of Volantis.”  
The world slowly began to form around them. A room of carved stone, a table of rough-hewn wood, the smoke of a hundred candles extinguished. Burnt spices and the wet of a cool rag on her forehead. A priestess of–the fire god?  
The red woman busied herself with covering Daenerys’s body with a rough wool blanket. “The Lord’s Fire fills you, but it will take some time before it reaches your fingers and toes, I’m afraid.”  
The young queen tried to wrap her mind around the woman’s words. She caught the turn of the red woman’s lips and she grasped that it had been a thread of dry humor. She tried a laugh, but it came out as a cough.  
Frustrated and disoriented, she moved to sit up. She saw the edge of the table and swung her legs over the side, but rocked unsteadily on her hips. The red woman grabbed Daenerys by the shoulders, but couldn’t resist catching her gaze. Kinvara seemed to be desperately searching her eyes for something, so Daenerys waited, focusing on finding a center in the swimming of her head.  
Finally, “What was on the other side?”  
At this, Daenerys moved her gaze to the floor. Even in her near-delirium, she knew what the red woman was asking. “Nothing.”  
The priestess did not move.  
“Darkness,” she coughed out. “A void that had swallowed... _everything_.”  
“Even the dawn,” the priestess tutted, releasing Daenerys’s shoulders and frowning to herself.  
Daenerys had no idea how to respond to that, and she didn’t try. “I–I was dead?”  
Kinvara drew to her full height. “Yes,” she nodded once. “And now you are not.”  
Daenerys pressed her hand to the spot and marveled to feel the puckered flesh of a healed wound. It ached deep through her, the pain reverberating through the whole of her body. It hurt for more reasons than she dared dwell on. “Your magic is–”  
The priestess lifted her shoulders. “It is not my magic. It is the Lord of Light’s doing.”  
Daenerys closed her eyes, gathering the blanket around herself. She was only just realizing that she was naked. She tried to stretch, but her body felt stiff and foreign. She wondered how the magic that now moved her worked.  
Distrust poured over her suddenly, like ice water down her back. What did this witch want from her? What would she ask in return for this gift? She was determined to maintain the upper hand. Questions spilled from her lips, issuing forth like impatient commands.  
Kinvara’s smile was indulgent. “I looked in the flames and saw the fire leave your eyes,” she explained easily. “I followed the Lord’s command to summon your dragon here, to Volantis. To your home.”  
“Volantis is _not_ my home.”  
Again, the priestess’s expression seemed to be that of a patient father watching the tantrum of a toddler. “Essos is your home, My Queen.”  
Daenerys felt her lips pinch in fury. “Westeros is my home. _King’s Landing_ is–”  
“In ruins,” Kinvara interrupted.  
Daenerys felt deflated. This was a truth she could not deny. She had used Drogon’s fire to raze the Red Keep, destroying everything her family had built over centuries in a matter minutes. Everything she had hoped to retake was lost to her.  
“Mourn not, My Queen,” the red woman sighed. “You spent more of your life in Essos than Westeros. You are loved here. You are _needed_ here.”  
“That does not make it my _home_ ,” the queen countered.  
The priestess shrugged delicately.  
“I had work to do in Westeros,” Daenerys began, trying to explain. “I wanted to free the people from tyrants. They were living under the heel of a system meant to crush them. I was going to liberate every slave, from sea to sea.”  
“Then your work is not in Westeros: slavery has been outlawed for generations.” The red woman added slowly, “But here, in Essos, it thrives.”  
The queen’s eyes flicked to Kinvara’s. “Just because a law is written, that does not mean it is followed,” she bit out. A wave of pain threatened to swallow her whole. “My own advisor was arrested for selling slaves in Westeros. I know that it is still done.”  
The red woman tilted her head slightly. “Perhaps men sold slaves, but to whom were they sold?”  
 _The Essene, of course_. They were the merchants and profiteers of slavery all over the known world. For every one Westerosi slaver, there were dozens in Essos. The slaves were shipped across the sea to live in the homes of Essene lords, to serve at the feet of magisters and kings.   
At her own feet, once.  
“I was a slave myself. Most servants of the Lord of Light were, until he raised us up,” Kinvara explained. “I have seen the toll of this scourge, and it grows here in cities all over Essos. There are no laws binding the slave merchants here, My Queen: only coin. It will not stop until no more children are born. Not unless someone stops it.”  
Daenerys furrowed her brow as a thought dawned. She had liberated Slaver’s Bay but had turned her back on the rest of the continent to put her eyes on an iron chair half a world away. People had died in chains while she had marched to rule a land that could only imagine a world beneath the wheel, beneath the rule of another Westerosi family. She had spent years and lost so much to liberate a people who loved their collar. Her stomach turned, but her lips formed a snarl of disgust.  
“I _will_ stop it,” she vowed, rage pulsing behind her eyes.  
“Well then,” Kinvara started with a small smile. “Shall we begin?”


	2. Chapter 2

The dress felt rough against her skin as she tied it at her side. Everything felt too much: every smell was nauseating, every touch was the prick of a needle. She jumped at sounds and her mouth tasted like copper.

One of the priestesses had led her through the labyrinthine halls of the temple to a little room where she was invited to dress, eat and recoup. She picked at some cheese but one sniff of the wine had turned her stomach. She slid her feet into silk slippers and ran her hand over her hair–she wore no braids now. _Would she ever again?_

Daenerys wondered what the future held. Kinvara had outlined some initial steps forward, but the young queen’s mind was still a haze. She could remember little of what had just happened, yet flashes of had happened before threatened to take her under. When would this pain subside?

A knock at the door reverberated through the room. “Enter,” she sighed, taking a seat on the bed.

It was Kinvara. “My Queen. Was the food to your liking?”

Daenerys glanced at the platter, barely touched.

The red woman frowned. “I have never met someone who came back. This was the first time that I have said the words and had a heart stir.”

Daenerys drew her eyebrows together. “Is it not something all red priests can do?”

Kinvara shook her head. “We all know the words, but our Lord brings back only those for whom He has a greater purpose.”

Daenerys pressed her lips together. She needed to make a stand, to draw the line. “I will not follow your god – or what you say is _his will_ – just because you brought me back.”

Kinvara nodded. “Of course, My Queen. But you must know that the Lord of Light chose you because your will aligns with His.”

Daenerys pulled a breath in, perhaps too deeply because it stung her ribcage. She thought about flames licking the roofs of King’s Landing. She thought about a dagger in her chest. “I was murdered for my will,” she said, her nostrils flaring. “Where was your god when I watched my men slaughtered by the army of the dead? Where was the Lord of Light when Cersei Lannister cut off the head of my most trusted advisor and friend – a slave I freed, who _died in chains_ because your god did not intervene – where was he then?”

Kinvara listened, unmoving.

“One of your red priestesses came with Asshai fire magic to light the weapons held by my Dothraki bloodriders, and I watched every flame extinguished. She lit the trenches around Winterfell and the dead piled over the flames as if it were a puddle in the street.” Daenerys felt her heart thudding in her chest. “I stood on the steps of King’s Landing to tell my soldiers that we were going to bring liberation to every man, woman and child and within the hour, I was slain by– by–” She choked back a sob and felt the rage burn out, quenched in grief.

Kinvara’s voice was soft. “My Queen, even as His Truth, I can not claim to know why R’hollor does not prevent evil,” she said. “I can only tell you that I saw your face in the flames and said the words that He commanded. By the dawn, your dragon landed on top of our temple with you cradled in his claws. I spoke the words He teaches us. Within that hour, you were alive once more.”

Daenerys looked up, tears wet on her cheeks as her eyes searched the red woman’s face.

“My Queen, your journey is not mine to understand. I did was I was bid,” she said, holding her hands wide. “But I have watched you since dragons were hatched from stone. I have believed in you since the collars of crucified slaves pelted the walls of a slave city. I have spoken out for your cause since I treated with your advisors in Mereen. And I have served you since your dragon answered my call.”

Daenerys wiped away her tears. “And if I don’t want your service?”

Kinvara shrugged. “Deciding who serves in your court is your queenly prerogative. Before you excuse me, I would like to introduce you to some Essean nobles who might help your cause.”

She swallowed. “Why should I trust you?” She thought a moment and added, “Them? _Anyone_?”

The red woman sighed, folding her hands in front of her. “I should think that would be very hard for you just now, My Queen.”

Daenerys found herself giving a dry chuckle.

“Witches and charlatans have not always been kind to you, Daenerys,” the red woman said. The queen stiffened at the priestess’s familiarity. “I promise you that magic is not corruption. It is not evil. There is nothing to be frightened of in magic alone.”

Daenerys found her gaze settling far off as she listened.

“I studied in Asshai, like the priestess you met. Have you ever been there?”

Daenerys shook her head.

“It seems a terrible, beastly place to strangers who wash up on its shores. Everything is built of greasy black stone. People walk the streets in hoods and capes – there are no children. The highest teach shadow magic, which frightens even the most seasoned conjurers,” she explained. “But some say it is where dragons were first born.”

“One of my servants told me that there used to be a second moon. It drifted too close to the sun, so it hatched like an egg. A thousand, thousand dragons spilled out.”

Kinvara laughed and Daenerys found herself joining.

“Perhaps, My Queen,” she said, still chuckling. “But looking at your Drogon, I have no doubt that he is a child from the shadowlands beyond Asshai.”

Daenerys turned to Kinvara. “Have you seen him since he brought me here?”

Kinvara laughed. “Come, My Queen,” she said, offering her hand.

Daenerys took it and allowed herself to be led out onto a terrace. She glimpsed Volantis beyond the ledge, faint memories from her childhood filtering into her mind. She turned to follow Kinvara’s gaze, and found herself stepping back in shock.

Drogon rested across the top of the temple, stone crumbling beneath his claws. He bowed his head toward Daenerys and she rushed forward, reaching out to caress him.

“He has not left this spot, much to the consternation of the city’s builders,” Kinvara said, a little wry smile on her lips.

“Oh, you incredible creature,” Daenerys cried out. She ran her hand along his jaw and his eyes drifted shut. A sob escaped her. “Drogon, my only son.”

“He would not take our word that you were safe,” Kinvara said. “He waited here without food or rest.”

Daenerys exhaled a little laugh through her tears. “That’s my Drogon.” After a long moment, she whispered to him, “I’m fine. You must eat. Go on now. Fly.”

She stepped back and he followed her command, pushing up into the sky and out towards the sea. She watched him bank toward some cliffs, then disappear from view.

Kinvara, too, was crying. Daenerys tilted her head and looked at the priestess. “I’m sorry, My Queen,” she said, wiping her eyes with her long, red sleeve. “It is one thing to know that the dragons have been awakened, but it is another to see them so close, with their mother.”

Daenerys let her gaze fall to the stone floor. “I’m afraid that Drogon is the last dragon,” she said, her voice heavy with pain. “Viseryon was killed by the Night King and Rhaegal was killed because I was a poor battle strategerian.”

Kinvara took Daenerys by the elbows. “The dragon must have three heads,” she said with some urgency. In the blink of an eye, her expression was light again. “Come, let’s get you into the bath."


	3. Chapter 3

Each night, she awoke a dozen times from dreamless, fitful sleep, sobbing and coughing, always with her hand to her breast. In her waking moments, she would trace the scar with her fingers, her mind echoing with the ringing of bells and lies.

The Volantene priestess had summoned Daenerys early in the morning. She had sent a lower priestess with clothes, food and wine. “You are bid to the Red Temple, My Queen,” she said, her voice more delicate than Kinvara’s.

“Your High Priestess… tell me what you know of her.”

The red woman clasped her hands in front of her. She did not bow her head in deference, as servants and handmaidens did. _As was fitting in the presence of a queen_ , Daenerys noted bitterly. “The First Servant of the Lord of Light is his most devoted,” she said. “She follows the Lord’s commands and instructs us all in how to better serve Him.”

Daenerys dared to ask baldly, “What does she want with me?” Perhaps the red woman would lie for her Priestess. Perhaps she would tell the truth. Daenerys felt she risked nothing in asking, even if she was given nothing in return.

“The Lord has commanded her to speak with you,” the red woman answered. “She has been spreading the word of your work throughout Essos for some time.”

Not terrifically forthcoming. “What word?”

She thought a moment. “That you are the Breaker of Chains, My Queen. That you will free everyone alive from slavery.” She added quickly, “That you are the Prince That Was Promised.”

Daenerys scoffed. “As it turns out, I was not.”

The priestess fixed her a look. “The dragon must have three heads.”

Daenerys blinked and shook the thought from her head, stepping to a window for air. Prophesies. So many had been made, so many had been broken by time or ignored by the will of men. They felt like riddles meant to exhaust her. Rhaegar had spent his life obsessed with the prophecy about the Prince That Was Promised, lying among the ruins of Summerhall while dreaming of ghosts and fire.

She used to dream that the afterlife was real and that he could somehow know that she had awakened dragons from stone, that she and they were reborn amidst salt and smoke. Three dragons, two of which had died. Three heads, indeed.

When she left her room, she walked slowly through the halls of the temple, trying to summon courage with each step. Flame lined the tops of the walls, licking the ceiling. Idly, Daenerys wondered if a dead dragon could still walk through the flames unburnt.

“My Queen,” Kinvara greeted, bowing her head as Daenerys walked into the hall.

The young queen clasped her hands in front of her. “High Priestess.”

“Sit,” she said, gesturing to a chair at the head of a long table where several people were standing, watching her approach. She sat. Everyone followed suit, but no one spoke. Kinvara took a seat to Daenerys’s right, waving for wine to be poured.

Daenerys looked from face to face, but no recognition flickered in her mind. These were Essean nobles, she noted from their dress. The allies Kinvara had spoken of?

“My priestess no doubt told you that I have been telling the people of your goal to liberate the slaves?”

Daenerys nodded once.

“The Lord brought me to the homes of many like-minded lords and ladies,” Kinvara said, gesturing around the table. “The six gathered here have shown great interest in breaking chains all over the continent. And they did not lose faith in your work because of a silly thing like death.”

Daenerys looked around. Their faces were calm. She took a moment to wonder which of them was the spy.

“This,” Kenvara said, pointing to a stern-faced woman in a dull green-grey dress with her hair up in two braids, “is Nora Nestoris of Braavos.”

Kenvara moved her attention to a taller man with dark skin, a flat brow and golden robes. “Syraquo Pahros, a merchant from Lys.”

She then gestured to a smaller man in green who reminded Daenerys of Varys, and a woman beside him who looked like his sister. “Irreo and Tirella Annem, of Myr.”

Two gruff looking, large men sat at the far end of the table, looking uncomfortable in the small chairs. “Aros and Ballys, former sellswords from–”

“Here and there, Your Grace,” the shorter of the two said, with an apologetic smile. “No families, no real homes.”

Daenerys nodded. Gathered at the table was a lot of wealth and a little brawn. She wondered what other qualities lay beneath the surface of Kinvara’s gathered council.

“We have news from the west, Your Grace,” Syraquo began.

She turned to him and raised an eyebrow. _All business, Syraquo? Merchant or pirate?_

“The Westerosi have installed a boy as their king. They call him ‘Bran the Broken’.”

Daenerys drew a long breath. A Stark at the helm of the Seven Kingdoms. _Well–not a Stark exactl_ y, she reminded herself. “What do you mean, ‘installed’?”

“There was a vote among the remaining lords and ladies,” he answered. “He is served by your former Lord Hand, Tyrion Lannister.”

Daenerys shifted in her seat. She grumbled aloud, “Not dead then?”

Irreo chimed in, “Indeed, no. Nor is your murderer.”

The world spun for Daenerys, and tried not to collapse into the pain that rang through her breast. “He lives?”

The man nodded. “Sent to the Wall to serve out a life sentence for his crime.” He added, “And the North is its own kingdom, with the traitor’s sister as its queen.”

 _The traitor’s niece_ , her mind corrected. Fire raged in her gut. She desperately needed to close the subject of the Starks. “The Unsullied?”

“The Unsullied set sail from King’s Landing for parts unknown,” he answered.

“Naath,” Daenerys sighed, sadness wringing out her anger. “They have gone to the Isle of Naath.”

“Very good,” he said. “Shall we send word to them?”

Daenerys nodded. “The Dothraki?”

Syraquo smiled, a man pleased with the sudden relevance of the knowledge he held. _Fortunately for you, Syraquo, cockiness is not a deal-breaker... so long as you back it up._ “They set sail behind The Unsullied, no doubt headed home. They’ll be riding together for much of their journey.”

Daenerys felt her brow lift. This was convenient news. “I supposed it would hearten them to see a dragon overhead,” she said with a small smile.

Kinvara turned to face the queen.

“I have to return to Mereen. If I’m going to reestablish my rule, I must start with the one city I am still queen of.” She added dourly, “I assume.”

Kinvara inclined her head. Daenerys appreciated that the Priestess did not openly question her. She was beginning to like Kinvara, she realized.

A thought occurred to her. “Send word to Daario Naharis in Mereen before someone tells that I’m dead and he thinks he’s free to wander off into the desert.”

“At once,” Irreo said, inclining his head. “You’ll be pleased to know that The Unsullied pledged themselves to continuing your cause.”

Daenerys smiled at this. She expected nothing less. “What other news?”

“As it is with the wars in Westeros, things in Essos have continued without much disruption,” Tirella explained. “The Bank of Braavos took some wounds in the conflict. They had invested heavily in the Lannisters and there were apparently a great many casualties among the Golden Company.”

Daenerys smiled smugly at this, and Tirella smiled back, sharing in the joke.

“The Iron Bank is careful in their investments. They once backed Stannis Baratheon against the crown; Stannis and his men thought it was turning the tide of the war, but for the bank, it was a pittance,” Nora said. “The bank thought it was their best chance at collecting the Lannisters’ debts.”

Ballys interjected, “Every day that we breathe, the Iron Bank profits from those in collars. Every gold piece that sells a man passes through Braavos, the supposed free city.” Brash, bold, speaks before he’s thought it through, but speaks his truth. Just what she expected from a sellsword.

Daenerys considered this. “How would the Iron Bank treat our cause? When I liberated Slaver’s Bay, they did not intercede directly, but investments are rarely so clear on the battlefield.”

“The treasurer of the Iron Bank is a shrewd man,” Nora said, her voice slow and even, with the enunciation of a well-educated woman. “He backs whichever side seems to be winning. If the tide turns against slavery, the bank will turn against slavery. Since they have seen your might in battle, I do not think he would dare cross you. They’ll have their fingers in the pie of rebuilding King’s Landing, but if your attentions are away from Westeros, the Iron Bank would see no conflict there.”

“How do we find out whether this is more than guesses in the dark?”

Kinvara’s full lips formed a smile. “My Queen, you have the pleasure of speaking with the elder sister of the treasurer of the Iron Bank of Bravos.”

Daenerys followed the priestess’s gaze back to Nora. She could not hide the shock of her face. The priestess trusted the man’s sister not to be a spy or traitor?

“You well know, My Queen, that not all sisters are loyal to their brothers,” Kinvara said, with a smirk.

The woman in gold shrugged. “I design ships, Your Grace. Tycho confides in me because he thinks I will let slip talk of trade,” she explained. “What he doesn’t know is that every ship I build has stowholds for slaves I smuggle out of slave cities for free lives elsewhere.”

Daenerys was impressed. “A shipbuilder and an abolitionist,” she drawled, giving Kinvara an approving smile. “Well. We will have much to discuss. Before I set off for Mereen, I would speak with you each privately. I’ll start with you two,” she said, pointing at the sellswords.

They remained seated and seemed wholly uncomfortable while the nobles left the room. Daenerys watched with some amusement as the rugged Aros and Ballys looked like two children about to be scolded for stealing sweets.

She let them suffer only a moment before she dove in. “Why do you want to serve me?”

“My mom was a slave,” Aros said. “She died in chains. I want to kill the men who held the keys. Me and Ballys run with a crew of a hundred who hate slavery and it seems like you’re the one to follow. Besides, I heard you welcomed The Second Sons and trusted them sellswords to keep Mereen running.”

For Daenerys, that was simple enough. She nodded. She turned to Ballys. “And you?”

He reddened above his thick, brown beard. “I owe him my life,” he said, looking askance at Aros. “Where he goes, I go.”

“And if you saved his life in turn, and you were free of your debt? Would you follow me then?”

Ballys went deeper red. “It’s… not so simple. Your Grace.”

Daenerys felt her brows knit together. She waited for him to explain, but his eyes were everywhere else.

Finally, Aros spoke up. “You’re some liberator queen, right? Do you want to free all people?”

Daenerys considered the question. “Of course, every man, woman and child in chains–”

“But what about when they’re free?” Ballys was meeting her gaze now, eyes fierce. “Will you let them be truly free?”

“I–I demand loyalty–”

“Yes, yes, bend the knee and all that,” Ballys interrupted. “But what about how they live?”

Daenerys blinked. She felt entirely asea and in deadly territory with two warriors. “Ask me plainly what it is you want.”

“Not to be put to death for kissing the man who saved my life.” Ballys sat shock straight, the color now gone from his cheeks. He knew what he was saying might be grounds for her to haul him away right then. But he spoke it.

“It is a difficult thing you ask–” She raised a hand to stop any doubts. “I can issue edicts and send my soldiers to punish those who disobey, but changing the hearts of the people – and the religions – is far out of my hands.”

“We know it,” Aros said.

“But call me queen and I will issue those edicts in every city I hold. No prison, no axe. That is all I can promise.” She raised an eyebrow, “And it’ll be up to your swords to make good on that word.”

Ballys nodded. “Done.”

“Done.”

Daenerys stood, extending her hand. “Done.”

Irreo and Tirella were former slaves who had escaped as children and made themselves into the clever duo of a silks trader and a seamstress, building their fortune one stitch at a time. Syraquo was, indeed, a pirate; when his ship was sunk and his men sold some ten years back, he had sworn to free them all.

That just left Kinvara.

Daenerys faced her at the table. “I know that you say your god told you to summon Drogon. I know that you were a slave and you are committed to seeing slavery end. I know that you believe I am The Prince That Was Promised,” she began. “I am not.”

Kinvara smiled indulgently.

The young queen felt frustration blossom in her. “I am not,” she repeated angrily. “I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of My Name, the Mother of One Dragon, Breaker of Chains, the Unburnt, the Undead. I may no longer be Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea or Queen of Mereen–I may be a girl alone in the world from a great and ancient house with a name that is hated in half the world and beloved in another. A house reduced to two people a world apart, one of whom was ripped from death’s grip just to put a dagger in the heart of the other.”

Kinvara listened, her expression warm.

“I killed my mother, my brother, my husband and two of my sons. I killed the rulers of Qarth. I killed the slave masters of Astapor, Yunkai and Mereen. I killed every living khal. I killed advisors, people who spoke truths to me. I killed thousands of people in King’s Landing,” she said, her chin high. “I did not, however, kill the White Walkers. I did not deliver us from the Others. That honor went to a wild wolfgirl who, for the record, hates me.”

Kinvara nodded once.

“If I move forward on my own, Kinvara, the world will run red with fire and blood. I will be Queen of the Ashes. I will liberate everyone by burning them where they stand.”

“Death by fire is the purest death, My Queen,” Kinvara replied softly. “The god I worship knows that you will point the flame where it should burn, and He instructs me to advise you.”

Daenerys swallowed. “And what if tomorrow your god says to slit my throat?”

Kinvara smiled. “I swear this oath, Daenerys Stormborn: if my god demands your blood, I will tell you before I pull the dagger.”

She let her eyes roam out a window, towards the western horizon. “That’s certainly more than I’ve gotten from some.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the idea of Kinvara resurrecting Dany is an idea that a lot of people are running with, but I'm hoping I bring something new to it. Like a lotta people, I was and wasn't disappointed with Dany's story. I wanted to come up with a story that redeems her, but doesn't ignore her cruelty. I'm hoping I get there.  
> I also apparently, for some reason, wanted some more of that nephew lovin'. Yikes. So that'll find its way in here somehow.
> 
> Blanket warning? Forgive me if I get any of the factual details of this world wrong. I always try to research, but ya know how it is.


End file.
